Midnight by the River
by The Motorcycle Boy Lives
Summary: A oneshot from Patterson's perspective, the night the Motorcycle Boy was killed. Reviews and flames welcome! Rumblefish fic.


**Hello, my friends, and welcome to my next one-shot. This one will be around Rumble Fish, Patterson's point of view of the Motorcycle Boy's killing by the river. It is told in third person, like another one of my stories, and I did this because I felt it would be a much more accurate way to show Patterson's feelings about the event.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rumble Fish, only the characters that you don't recognize from the book/movie.**

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_**Midnight by the River**_

_**Patterson**_

Patterson picked up the squealing radio mike and listened to the dispatcher pound out the news. "There's a report of a brake-in at the pet store, WA12," said the radio in his hand, "in-progress." There was static on the line.

Patterson's partner, a rookie named Davis, raised an eyebrow.

Patterson's voice was cold, his gut going raw. "Who?" he asked the mike, the answer already imprinted in his mind.

More static, then, "Reports say it's...It's the Motorcycle Boy. Possibly someone else."

"Copy that," Patterson said, slapping his cop car, an old Dodge 440 Interceptor, into gear then gunning the engine. "Gonna need back-up. Over." he said to the mike, signaling all of the other cops that were in the area.

Sirens wailing, Patterson roared through the back roads, splattering through muddy puddles, his mind racing. The Motorcycle Boy...His time was most definitly up. If Patterson was lucky, Rusty-James would be with him, then he could nail both of those delinquents once and for all. Robbing the pet store... He wondered what those two could get out of that. Darkness had washed over the sky hours ago, stars now visibly dotting the night. The road ahead was bumpy, the concrete filled with potholes.

His thoughts were drowned out by Davis, relaying the news. "This is WA12, in-route of a break-in in-progress at the pet store on Main Street. Need back-up. Over."

As they sped down the road, more sirens came to be heard behind them, all of them becoming one. Patterson jerked the steering wheel to the side, turning on to Main Street. He knew that behind the pet store, there was a trail that led to the river...

Patterson quickly picked up the radio again, realization upon him. "This is WA12, going around back to the river. I want units staked in front in case he tries to make a get away. Over."

Patterson spun the wheel, whipping the car around, while some other officers followed him, others slid to a halt at the front of the store. The radio crackled non-stop, as some cops warned others that the robber may be armed. Through the rearview mirror, Patterson could see others slowly opening their doors, guns torn out of holsters, locked in firing position, and making for the entrance.

The lights were on in the store, and from the looks of it, thought Patterson, he was going to make no move to come through the front door.

Patterson and Davis splashed through the mud, a few other cars trailing behind them. The red and white flashing lights blinded Patterson, and he became more anxious. He was ready though, he was pretty sure he was ready. But the Motorcycle Boy, he had to go. He was nothing but a nuisance, and the sooner he was gone the better. The people of the town would see.

"Patterson, look." Davis pointed farther along down the trail that led to the river. There was a figure in the darkness, he could just barely make it out. It was moving, ever so slowly, not in a hurry. In fact, it appeared to Patterson that the person didn't even realize that the cops were after him.

Davis, meanwhile, was trying to get a look at the guy, going so far as to stick his head out the window, even though he knew that robber could be dangerous. "It's like he doesn't know we're here," Davis thought out loud, "Should we yell to him?"

Patterson spoke gruffly, "No," --Davis looked at him-- "To late for that." Patterson picked up the radio, sped up until they were closing in on the perpetrator, and said ,"This is WA12, pull back, repeat, pull back, we'll take it from here. Over."

Patterson skidded to a halt, quickly opened his door, got out, and held his pistol high in the air. Davis slowly did the same, only crouching behind his door, using it as a shield, and keeping his gun lowered.

"Patterson," he said, as something dawned on him, "Wait, Patterson, ---"

Davis's comment was drowned out by the sound of Patterson's pistol ringing in the air, a warning shot being fired.

Davis had heard of the Motorcycle Boy before, Patterson knew that. Hell, there was no one in town that hadn't heard of him. Davis never really knew too much about him, he believed, other than the fact that he did not have too much of a police record. At least, compared to some of the hoods around here. So it was a good thing, that only Patterson, and maybe Rusty-James, knew that the Motorcycle Boy was deaf a lot of the time.

Patterson looked ahead of him, the man taking no notice of the shot. With that, he aimed his gun towards the man's back, and in one fleeting second, he realized that, in the white and red sheen of the strobe lights, this man was too tall to be Rusty-James, and that made him the Motorcycle Boy.

Patterson was filled with triumph in less than a second, his dream was about to come true, and soon the town would know that what he had done was a good thing, it would be better this way.

Davis stood up, eyes wide, face stricken. "No, wait, we don't --"

Once again, Davis could not finish his sentence. Patterson's hand, used to the kick of a gun any size, didn't move when he fired. In the bleak light, Patterson fixed his eyes on the Motorcycle Boy's figure, as it lurched forward, knees buckling. The tank fell from the Motorcycle Boy's arms, the water spilling out.

But he wasn't dead. Oh no, he wasn't dead. Again, Davis's voice screeched through air, and the rest of the sirens, as more cop cars began to spill out the path. "No! Patterson!"

Another shot burst into the night, and the Motorcycle Boy rolled onto his stomach, his head lolling to the side, and the rest of his body laying still. The whole event took about three seconds.

There was shouting, and footsteps, and everything blurred. More cops came up the trail and got out of their cars, preparing to investigate the scene. Patterson knew that Davis, being the young rookie who was still learning, would not ask questions.

He knew this as he watched Davis walk ghostly towards the Motorcycle Boy's body, as it lay quiet and still. For another brief second, Patterson almost smiled. But he did not, as he learned long ago that this was something he could only do rarely, and this event would not change that.

So he stood there, gun in one hand, leaning against his open car door, and no one bothered him. He was detached from everything, as if he wasn't really there. Or, as if, he was in his own little world. Nothing stirred him from this spot until, suddenly, there were more footsteps, much faster ones. Patterson took his time in turning around, tearing his eyes away from the body, to see Rusty-James running towards them. Almost like he needed to be here.

Rusty-James ran towards the body, his face unreadable to Patterson. He halted as Davis and another cop flipped the Motorcycle Boy's body over, revealing a genuine smile, as Patterson stood next to his car, not giving the body a second thought. He watched Johnston, another cop, throw Rusty-James up against a car and frisk him. Patterson thought, that damned kid...Should've gotten him too...Maybe I will, next chance I get.

As Davis slowly began to fill out a report, shock wearing off quickly and quietly, as had been trained to make happen, Rusty-James's eyes darted around, and he began to shake. Almost like he was having a stroke. His mouth moved, but no words came out. Suddenly, he yelled at Davis, "Can you hear me?"

Patterson had no idea what he was talking about, only that he was either drugged or now completly insane. Davis didn't look up. Rusty-James started flailing and shaking and screaming at the top of his lungs, like he couldn't hear his own voice. Then he stopped suddenly, hugging his eyes closed for a minute, then opening them and staring around wildly at everything.

"Better get this kid to the hospital," another cop said behind Patterson. "I think he's in shock or something."

Patterson squinted for no real reason behind his dark sunglasses. "Shock, hell," Patterson replied, his contempt for Rusty-James growing more and more by the minute. "He's probably on dope or something."

As Patterson said that, he felt more eyes on him than ever before. He looked around, similar to the way Rusty-James had done. The crowd of people was immense and still growing. They seemingly materialized from nowhere, just to gawk at the Motorcycle Boy, and how nuts Rusty-James had become withen a few minutes.

Boys, girls, men, woman, motorcyclists pulled over, as did cars, seemed to come from all different places, and were now bowling over policeman trying to get closer, and blocking the ambulance path. There was talking, too. So much talking. All different voices could be heard, on top of one another, some screaming, some whispering to the person next to him, some flat out sobbing.

"I can't believe it...It's impossible..."

"Who did it? I'll kill the guy!"

"I can't see, let's get closer."

"They shot him!"

What did he do wrong? Couldn't these people see that Patterson had done the right thing? The Motorcycle Boy... A menace to society... Him and his brother were nothing but juvenile delinquents, and they were gone now. It would be better now. But the voices didn't stop. They grew louder, in fact, as Rusty-James was forced into one of the ambulances for having slashed his wrists on the windows of a cop car, it was overwhelming. Inside his head, Patterson hoped to god that Rusty-James bled to death before he made it to the hospital, but that would be another story completely.

Looking down at the Motorcycle Boy's body, Patterson believed himself to have done a good thing, tuning out the voices. But they, contrary to Patterson's beliefs, thought otherwise.

"They shot the Motorcycle Boy!"

"Really is a shame... He had a future, that boy."

"Where's Rusty-James? Is he okay?"

"How? How could they do something like that?"

"Nobody's gonna forget that Motorcycle Boy."

_**FINI.**_

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**Okay, I know I didn't have too much of the cop lingo down, but I don't know much about them. I would have really liked to get more of Rusty-James's emotions in it, but since this was a fic about Patterson, that wasn't really an option.**

**Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read my one-shot, and I hope that you review. Oh, and just to let anyone know, who is confused, Davis is NOT a character from the book, I made him and all of his actions up.**

**Till next time,**

**THE MOTORCYCLE BOY REIGNS**


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